Broken
by layhee
Summary: Starbuck is injured during a training exercise, and despite what she may or may not admit, she's going to need a little help to get back on her feet. KaraLee
1. Prologue: Breaking Me

The first time he saw her, he thought she was overrated. The boys had been talking her up to be some hotshot supermodel with enough '_charm'_ to smack a superior officer in the ass and get away with it. She struck him, maybe, as the first and second descriptors, but not the middle. She was attractive, sure, even pretty in a boyish sort of way, but she wasn't a model by any stretch of the term.

He couldn't count how many times he'd seen her between then and now, but lying there, eyes closed and shivering slightly under the threadbare survival blanket, she was the most frakking beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He'd never tell her, obviously. But there it was. He smiled a bit and shifted on the cold ground, trying to find some way to make peace with the inescapable sharp edges of rock beneath his bedroll. Hotdog's faint snoring was just audible over the crackle of the camp fire that Kat and Racetrack were tending. Lee watched them prod vacantly at the flames with gnarled sticks, their eyes scanning the surrounding forest of dead trunks, and sighed quietly. Week one of Basic Pilot Crash Survival Training was coming to a close. Only three more days to go before they could return to the ship and Lee could finally get the chance to beat whoever had come up with this frakking idea into a bulkhead.

Kara smiled faintly in her sleep and Lee wondered vaguely if she'd somehow heard his thought. Already halfway there, he let his eyes fall the rest of the way closed, and before he knew it, that half-smiling face was above his, grinning ruthlessly and holding a small, dripping bucket. He barely had time to get her name out in confusion before a load of frigid water was dumped on him.

"Morning, major," she said cheerfully, setting the bucket aside and crouching beside him. "Rise and shine!"

Spluttering and wiping water off his face, he sat up. "What in _hell_—"

"You overslept," she informed him, what he now saw as a cheery façade giving way to irritation. "The locals were getting restless. Come on, get dressed and let's move out."

* * *

Lee really was cute sometimes, she had to admit. When she dumped that water on him, for instance. Soaking wet and totally stunned, he reminded her so strongly of a floppy puppy that it was all she could do to stay annoyed and not laugh her brains out.

They'd already packed up most of their gear, and so while Lee pulled his uniform on, Kara lay their map down on the ground and sketched out their itinerary for the day. "Major," she said teasingly as he settled in next to her in their small circle, "how nice of you to finally join us. Had a good sleep, did you?"

The group chuckled and Lee rubbed the back of his neck, pointedly ignoring her comments. "So, we have a plan for today?"

"We keep heading for the plateau here," she said, setting a finger down on the map. "We should be able to reach it today. From there, we can get a big enough boost on a signal for them to pick it up."

"Sounds good," he agreed. "Everybody ready?" There was a collective affirmative reply. "Alright. Let's move out."

She watched him discreetly as they walked. She'd fallen back to bring up rear while he led the pack, giving her an easily disguised vantage point. He hiked on fearlessly, seemingly tirelessly, urging on the junior members of the team when they stumbled. It was no wonder he was CAG—she could think of no one better for the job, not even herself. Somehow, he managed to get that mix of militarism and kindness just right, that perfect combination that she'd never even come close to achieving.

He'd be head of the fleet someday, she knew it. And she was happy for him.

He paused at the top of a small ridge and glanced back down at the scraggly line of pilots trudging up after him. His eyes met hers and he quirked a half-smile. She found herself struggling to return it. He'd be head of the fleet someday… if he lived long enough. It was part of their lives, the constant danger. They'd both learned to live with it, as much as anyone can learn to live with it. Somewhere deep down, Kara knew she didn't truly believe she'd ever be killed. She didn't believe he'd ever be killed. He was Apollo, named after a _god_, for frak's sake, and she was Starbuck, invincible Starbuck. Some part of her brain told her they'd both live forever, because if she ever stopped thinking that, she'd be off her rocker faster than the launch tube could spit out her Viper.

* * *

She looked tired, he realized. Really _tired_. And it worried him, just like it worried him every time she made any indication of pain. He tried to send her some of his confidence with a warm smile, but she'd already dropped her eyes back to the ground and kept marching onwards.

Their goal, the plateau, wasn't far. By mid-afternoon, they'd reached the base of the almost-sheer cliff that climbed the final metres to their destination. They took a short break there while they set up their climbing harnesses and picks, and then Racetrack, their resident monkey, led the way up the rock face.

It was relatively easy going. Lee had never been much of a climber, but even he had to admit that this wasn't too hard. They moved quickly and surely, the jagged rocks providing footholds and handholds so sturdy that the picks were almost useless. That is, until they lost their strength.

"Break!" Racetrack's voice cried from above, "Everybody break _now_! Sideways! We got a landslide!"

The world blurred. Lee scrambled as fast as he could to the right, but it wasn't far enough to avoid the shower of rocks and dirt that poured down. He was caught and knocked off his feet, just barely catching hold of his picks that were firmly embedded in the cliff. A body, he couldn't see whose, tumbled past him. He kicked to regain his footing without success, and another cascade of dirt bore him down to the ground, where he landed hard on his front, and was promptly buried. The world went silent.

He struggled. It wasn't far to the surface, he knew it. It couldn't be far. He pushed and scratched and kicked and shoved debris out of his way until finally he saw light. The world exploded into noise. There was yelling. Kat, who'd still been on the ground when the cliff had fallen, was digging through the rubble. She'd found Hotdog, half-hidden beneath some soil and unconscious. A head broke through the rubble a little ways away and Racetrack gasped for air.

"Kara?" Lee called, crawling over the rocks and dirt. He swore but kept moving as something sharp bit into his hand. "Kara!" There was no answer. "Kara!" He pawed frantically at the debris.

"Lee?" The voice was small, muffled, and frightened. He froze, listening hard. "Is that you?"  
"Yeah," he called back, "Kara, where are you? Keep talking, I'll find you and dig you out."

"I'm over here." It was coming from a pile of large rocks by what had been the base of the cliff. He rushed over and heaved one of the top ones out of the way, revealing a pale, bloodied hand.

"I've got you," he said, putting his own hand over hers to assure her. "Hold on, I'll get the rest of these rocks off."

"'Kay," she said. Gods, her voice was tiny. She sounded _scared_. "Lee?"

He grunted, straining to push another boulder out of the way.

"Lee, I can't—" there was a choked pause, "I can't—" He heard her moan and then a soft noise like a sigh filtered its way up to his ear, and then nothing.

Nothing.

"Kara?" he tried, worried. "Kara, stay with me. Kara!"

With renewed vigour, he sprang back into motion. Removing another rock revealed battered skin and a wisp of dirty blond hair. He pushed the other rubble away from her face and took it in his hands, gently tapping her cheek. "Come on, Kara," he begged. "Wake up." There was no response. He leaned down, his ear scant millimetres from her parted lips, listening. He nearly crumbled with relief; she was breathing.

Kat had freed Hotdog, who was now sitting up against a tree and holding a blood-stained gauze bandage to his head. She scrambled over, followed a moment later by Racetrack, who seemed a bit off-balance. The two helped him move the remainder of the rocks from Kara.

"Are either of your radios working?" he asked, crouching on a slab of stone next to Kara's still form. "Mine's gone—probably smashed to bits in the slide."

"Mine's good," said Racetrack, clumsily wiping a trickle of blood away from her eye. "Here."

He took it and flipped it on. "_Galactica_, Apollo," he tried. "Come in, _Galactica_."

There was a tense pause, and then, "_Apollo, _Galactica_. Have you obtained your goal?"_

"Negative," he replied, "We require immediate assistance. We got caught in a landslide."

There was another pause, and when the radio sparked back to life it was the admiral's voice instead of Dee's that came through. "_Apollo, what is your status?"_

"Cuts and bruises on all of us," he told him, "probable concussion on Hotdog and Racetrack. Captain Thrace is unconscious."

"_Maintain position,"_ Adama ordered. "_We're sending a Raptor._" And the connection went dead.

Racetrack chuckled. "I don' have a cuncusssion, Adama," she said, her words slurring together, "Don' be ridziculous… now, les get Starbuck ou'of that hole and see what we can do about tha'arm of hers..." She leant forwards, reaching out to grab Kara.

Lee lunged, knocking her outstretched hands out of the way. "No!" he barked. "If she has a spinal injury you'll just make it worse."

Racetrack rocked back on her heels, over-estimated her balance, and tumbled onto her rump. "Sorry, major…"

"Go join Hotdog," he said. "Stay put and see what you can scrounge out of the medkit."

Kat was looking at him oddly as the younger pilot stumbled away. "What makes you think she has a spinal injury?"

Lee looked down at Kara. Her face was pale, covered in pinkish blotches and streaks of dark blood. "She said something…" He peered closer at the unconscious woman. Those were tear-tracks on her cheeks. "That she couldn't… couldn't do something; she didn't get the rest out." He hesitated. She'd have his head when she woke up if she found out he'd told Kat she'd been afraid. If she woke up. He stamped down hard on that particular thought. "She sounded scared. It just made me think maybe—"

Kat's hand on his shoulder stopped him and he looked up at her. She offered him a small smile. "Okay. Better safe than sorry. Besides, not like we can make her any more comfortable up here than down there."

"Yeah," he agreed, returning her smile as best he could. His stomach was twisting itself into knots—he thought he might recognize a noose developing down there… he glanced back at Kara. Her eyelids looked so fragile, it was hard to image that they could keep those steely eyes of hers contained. And yet, if they somehow managed to do so permanently, he was fairly certain his stomach's noose would take his heart into its embrace.

Kat squeezed his shoulder and pushed herself to her feet, moving off. "Don't do anything drastic," she warned, only half-joking.

"Right," he replied, trying to sound as optimistic as possible. He stared at Kara, eyes travelling over her tattered clothing, the blood staining her tanks… her left wrist and hand were obviously broken, bent horribly to the side and already swollen and purple. Trails of deep red trickled slowly from cuts all over her, much like on the rest of them. So vulnerable… With painstaking care, he brushed a strand of hair off her forehead and pretended he could see her stirring.


	2. Chiaroscuro

**Well now, since it seems I forgot my disclaimer in the last chapter, here it is: I don't own it.**

The fifteen minutes it took for the medical team to land and disembark seemed like hours, but Lee was exceedingly glad that the training exercise had been just that: practice. There was no actual need to get to the top of that awful plateau to get a signal out. At last on board the Raptor, strapped into the cramped hold and squashed up against the hull beside a nowhere-near-lucid Hotdog, Kara's stretcher digging painfully into his knees, Lee made a small mental offering of thanks to whatever gods had let the rescue go so smoothly and quickly.

The engines thrummed their familiar tune and Lee's mind drifted, quite unintentionally. What he wouldn't do for a steak right then… a steak and some white wine. White, always, not red. Kara'd never let him get away tease-free if it was red. He frowned slightly, trying to remember why. There was something… something to do with a chair, and… white scarves?

He shook his head to bring himself back to reality, stretching his eyes wide to keep them open when they threatened to close. He'd probably hit his head harder than he'd thought, too…

That dazzling smile. Gods, she was so beautiful when she smiled like that—over her shoulder as she strode confidently away, gold hair gleaming in the harsh lights. And there it was again, taunting this time with just a touch of seduction; she'd just won a pair of boxers off him at cards. Had he ever actually handed those over? He couldn't recall…

Before he knew it, he was in the medical ward, lying on a wonderfully comfortable bed. He sat bolt upright, staring around. Kat, Racetrack, and Hotdog were sleeping on the beds adjacent to his, covered in bandages and smears of sticky cream. Someone had cleaned them up—there was no more blood, no more dirt, no more of the mountain that had fallen on them all. Through a plastic curtain several compartments away, he could just see a blonde head over the top of a pillow.

He swung his legs off the bed and stood, finding his balance to be iffy but present. He made his way unevenly out of the partitioned room and along the narrow hallway until he reached the see-through curtains surrounding a bed. The bed was facing away from him, that blonde head all he could see of its occupant, not including the wires trailing off of it and into various machines. He entered carefully, silently, and seated himself in the lone chair.

She was asleep, or unconscious. Her right hand and half her forearm were in a cast, perched stiffly on her midriff. A bandage on her cheek had come loose and he reached out to smooth it back on. She stirred, her eyelids fluttering slowly and then pulling back to reveal bleary eyes. She looked around at her surroundings with an air of dim recognition.

Finally, her gaze fell on him. "Lee?" she questioned after a moment. Her eyes brightened, the thought visibly coming back into them, and she smiled. "Hey. What's going on?"

"We got caught in a landslide, remember?" he told her gently. "You must've taken a hit to the head like the rest of us." He chuckled a bit. "See, you're mortal, just like everyone else." He pinched her knee through the blanket for effect.

Her smile vanished. She stared down at her legs, an odd expression on her face. "Lee…" she said quietly, "Lee… what happened back on that planet?"

"The cliff fell on us," he told her. "You remember, don't you?"

She gave a small nod and turned wide eyes on him. Her voice was flat. "I can't feel my legs."

He froze. _Can't feel…_ cold grabbed at his heart and his mind leapt into overdrive, trying to find reasons why. "It's probably just an after affect—you had a concussion, I'm sure, probably a severe one—maybe the shock, maybe it's not really—"

"I can't feel them," she repeated, her voice rising to cut him off. "I can't feel them." Her words were slow, deliberate, but Lee could hear the panic building underneath. Her mouth twisted as her brows drew together. "Lee? Lee, frak you, say something!"

He couldn't. He was caught, frozen. "K—Kara—" he managed to choke out.

She punched him, her cast cracking as it bit painfully into his shoulder. She cried out in pain and fear, tears tumbling from her eyes as they squeezed shut.

Curtains rattled and instruments clattered as the doctor shoved his way into their compartment. "What's going on? What's the matter?"

Kara yelled again, an inarticulate howl. Lee took her face in his hands, finally regaining control over his petrified body. "Kara, look at me," he instructed. She twisted and flailed at him, crying out again as her broken hand was bent within its now-shattered cast.

"Hold her steady!" Cottle shouted, fitting a capsule onto a needle and trying to get a safe angle.

"Kara," Lee begged, "please. It's okay. You're okay. Please calm down. It's okay."

She didn't stop thrashing, but Cottle managed to find a target nonetheless. She sagged immediately, eyes meeting his foggily. "Lee?"

He smiled back at her. "You're gonna be okay."

Her eyes rolled back in her head and she went the rest of the way limp, slumping back into the pillows. Cottle let out a heavy breath of relief. "Fiesty, that one."

Lee looked up at the older man as he adjusted his cigarette. "_Will_ she be okay?" he demanded.

Cottle's dark gaze met his. "The arm'll heal. So will the head." He glanced down at the unconscious Kara. Her hair was mussed and the blankets had gotten twisted. Absently, the doctor tugged the sheet out from where it was clenched tightly in her fist. "She won't walk again."

Lee shot out of his chair and grabbed Cottle by the collar. "No," he hissed. "No."

The doctor stared back to him placidly. "Look, kid, her back's broken. There's not much I can do."

"'Not much'," he echoed, still clutching the man's collar. "So there's something."

Cottle pushed Lee's hand away irritably. "There's always something. She's feisty, like I said. Strong. She's welcome to try all the physiotherapy she can find, but I'm afraid it doesn't look good."

"_Frak_," Lee swore vehemently, pacing away from the doctor and looking sidelong at Kara, fist pressed against his mouth. He took two steps back towards Cottle, turned, took three away, three back, and finally returned to stare the doctor in the face from several small inches away. "I want to be contacted the moment she wakes up, you understand me?"

Cottle nodded, unperturbed, and Lee strode out of the medical bay. The doctor sighed softly and took a long drag on his cigarette, looking back down at the motionless captain. He straightened out her blanket distantly. "Pity…" And set about fixing her ruined cast.

* * *

_Circles within circles danced leisurely on a floor of shiny black. A figure skater sped by, lit up from below in blue and red from above, her body no more than the two outlines. In the distance there was a voice, female and horribly familiar: _You never could finish anything you started, could you?_ A door slammed closed and someone screamed. Circles danced, reds and yellows and blues on the black glass._

_Kara floated, face down and staring at the reflections in the mirror below her. The figure skater passed by again, leaping and landing gently to the strong chords of her father's piano. The water rippled slowly, distorting an already-warped reality. Leoben kissed her hard, pushing her up against the wall, slick with white paint. The white dribbled away over the glass, leaving a startling trail… he whispered his lips over her chest and she tilted her head back, watching the path as it dragged juxtaposition kicking and screaming into her world._

_Her body tensed, sending out the impulse to lift her legs and wrap them around Lee's hips. _Hey, slow down! It's not a race! _Nothing happened. She tried again, looking down her invisible torso. He was gone, vanished. She slammed a fist into the table in frustration. _You get that? There's nothing here!

Frak!_ she tried to scream. Her legs wouldn't move, she wanted to kick but nothing would work. A hand slapped her hard across the face. Circles danced._

Kara's eyes snapped open to an unfamiliar ceiling. Covered in cold sweat and gasping for breath, she stared around. Sickbay? What the…?

She made to swing her legs off the bed and nearly fell off head-first as they traitorously refused to budge. Regaining her balance, she stared down at them. Memories slammed back into her head, kicking off a pounding migraine. She flopped back against the pillows. "Frak…" she breathed, the panic and anger building again. "Frak. Doc!"

A moment later, Cottle pushed aside the curtains surrounding her bed and stepped inside. "How're you feeling?" he asked.

"Is it permanent?" she demanded, ignoring his question.

"I'm afraid so," he replied grimly.

"Isn't there some surgery you can do?" she pressed. "You're our best doctor, for frak's sake! Can't you do _something_? Just stitch the nerves or whatever the hell is frakking broken back together?"

"'fraid not," he replied, lighting another cigarette. _Cold, unfeeling bastard_, she thought vehemently.

"Gimme that," she snapped, reaching out to snatch it out of his hand.

He jerked it out of range. "Not a chance in hell," he told her. "No smoking in here."

She laughed callously. "Frak you."

"Good to see her attitude hasn't changed," drawled a gruff voice from behind her. Colonel Tigh was stepping through the curtains, followed by the Admiral and Lee.

They assembled themselves at the foot of her bed. "Sir," she greeted them generally, formally.

"Captain Thrace," the older Adama replied. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I hit my head," she replied honestly. "Don't suppose I could get a painkiller for that, huh, Doc?"

He shook his head. "Gotta conserve them for emergencies. A headache doesn't make the cut."

"Figures," Kara quipped harshly. "Sadistic bastard just wants to see me suffer. Don'tcha, Doc?"

Cottle rolled his eyes and adjusted her IV. "Her L5 vertebra is broken," he informed the three officers.

"What does that mean?" Tigh inquired, his rough voice surprisingly quiet.

Cottle picked up a pencil from where it lay on the desk and carefully prodded Kara's hip with it. She glared at him, looking like she wanted to move away. "Feel that?" he asked. She nodded. The pencil moved lower, to the base of her thigh. "That?" She nodded again. The pencil moved lower. "That?" She stared down at it where it was pressed against the side of her knee through the covers. She shook her head, and the pencil moved lower. She shook her head again. And again. And again. All the way down to the end of her foot. Again.

Nothing.

She couldn't look up at the three officers standing at the foot of her bed, couldn't bear the looks of pity and disappointment she was sure they were sporting. She kept her eyes on her dead legs and fiddled aimlessly with the blanket as Cottle answered Tigh's question.

"It means she feels nothing below here," a hand divided her thigh in two. "She'll probably gain some sensation over time, but chances are slim she'll ever be able to move her legs, let alone walk, again."

The words hit her harder than anything else ever had, sinking deep into her gut to knock the breath out of her and slapping her jarringly across the face. She shut her eyes and willed this sick reality away.

**Also, another note, and perhaps more important than the first: I'm not a doctor. I don't know anything more about recovery from spinal injuries than what I read on Wikipedia. So, there will almost certainly be inaccuracies. If you can see them, bear with me, please, and if you can't, well there's not really much of a problem then, is there? ;)**

* * *


	3. Stumble Steps

Lee felt his father stiffen beside him as Dr. Cottle's words struck home. "Is there nothing you can do?" the Admiral asked quietly, solemn gaze fixed on Kara.

"Not me, personally," Cottle replied. "I operated as soon as I could tell what was wrong—it could have been much worse. Here, these are the x-rays from before the operation and these are from after. See for yourself." He handed them two slim folders.

Adama opened one and Lee the other. "What are we looking at, Doctor?" the Admiral asked.

"Here," Cottle pointed at what Lee now saw as an oddity on the x-rays his father was holding. It was near the bottom end of her spine, a slightly larger vertebra. On closer inspection, it was the same size as the others, but had a crack running through it, pushing the pieces out to the sides.

The three men's attention then turned to Lee's x-rays. Lee blinked, staring at the obvious irregularity in the ghostly image. There was a long white rectangle where the lowest part of her spine should've been. "What the frak is that?" Tigh demanded.

"A metal rod," Cottle said, "To keep her spine from shifting while it heals."

"Are you going to take it out?" Lee asked, vaguely horrified.

The doctor shook his head. "No point. It won't have much effect on her."

"'Won't have much effect on her?'" Tigh echoed, apparently just as repulsed as Lee. "You've shoved a frakking stick up her—"

The sound of a groan broke off the quickly-becoming-heated conversation. Kara had one hand over her eyes and was grinning lopsidedly. "Thank you for that, Colonel…" she drawled and Lee snickered, a laugh that died quickly when her hand moved, reaching out for the x-rays. She was visibly fighting tears, her chin trembling and eyes misty. He passed the two folders to her, catching her hand in his and giving it a brief squeeze. She ignored him and stared down at the pictures.

The Admiral pulled Cottle off to one side and spoke quietly. Lee could just hear him over the ambient noise of the medical bay. "Where do we go from here?"

"Well," said Cottle, "I suspect you'd be wasting your time, but I suppose you could try to find a physiotherapist. There's bound to be somewhere in the fleet."

"You don't know any?"

The doctor shook his head and moved off. "I need to check on my other patients. Put the x-rays back on the table when you're done, and don't be too long. She needs rest."

As Cottle disappeared through the curtains, Adama rejoined the others. Kara glanced between the silent trio at the foot of her bed. "So go find one," she said impatiently, swiping irritably at her watery eyes and trying to convince them she was okay with a feeble smile. "You heard him. There's bound to be one somewhere."

* * *

There wasn't.

Lee and his father spent hours pouring over ships' manifests, logs, and lists of all sorts to no avail. There had been one, just _one_, physiotherapist in the entire fleet. She'd died of pneumonia on board one of the less pleasant freighters.

As the last list ran itself out, Lee flung it onto the table in frustration, cursing loudly. The sound reverberated around the empty room, echoing back and then vanishing, leaving his ears ringing. What were they supposed to do? It wasn't as if you could just take any old person off the street and play physiotherapist; you needed training! You had to go to school for years and listen to hours and hours of lectures, not just read a book or two and maybe watch a movie, right?

Right?

Lee's head jerked up out of his hands. What if…? He searched his mind for any films he'd ever seen that had anything to do with spinal injuries. Nothing came to mind. Books, then. A light flicked on somewhere behind his eyes. Yes! He _had_ read a book that had things about paralysis in it! He snapped his fingers distractedly, trying to remember the title. _Stride…? Stride? Step? Step… Step Dancing!_ He grinned. Now, all he had to do was find it again.

* * *

Kara sat awake and stared, half-hoping that if she looked long enough, hard enough, she could will the motion back into her legs. How could that bastard just stick her with a pencil a few times and say she'd never walk again? It didn't make sense! What if she could feel everywhere _except_ the places he poked?

She leaned forwards and ran her hands down her legs. They seemed to vanish around halfway down her thighs. Her eyes contradicted her nerves, telling her that her hands were still there while for all her legs could tell, they were no longer touching her. She stretched further and gasped as sharp pain shot along her spine. Swearing under her breath, she carefully straightened up and eased herself back down into the pillows, eyes closing.

She heard footsteps approach and stop at the foot of her bed. She waited for whoever it was to either address her or move on. A long moment of silence passed. The person cleared their throat and Kara cracked open an eye to see Lee standing there, bouncing a bit on his toes and looking very excited. Under his arm were several books.

"What," she asked, "you gonna read to me now? I thought you were supposed to be looking for physiotherapists. I can't stay like this forever, you know." She eyed him in mock-suspicion. "You just want my Viper, don't you? You know it's the best, and if I can't walk you figure you can have it. You're jealous, don't deny it."

He ignored her joking comments and held up the books. "We couldn't find a physiotherapist, but—"

"You couldn't find one?" she echoed, disbelieving. "What do you mean, there's none in the fleet? Anywhere?"

He shook his head. "There was one, a Dr. Jemma Morgan. She's dead. But—"

She cut him off again, dismayed, "So what am I supposed to do, learn to walk on my own? I don't know frak about physiotherapy. I can't even spell it!"

Lee sighed. "That's what I've been trying to say," he told her with as much patience as he could muster. "That's what these books are for. I've read over them, and I think we can use them to chart out a… a training plan for you."

"Let me see," she demanded, holding out her good hand. He passed her the first book. She stared first at the cover, then up at him. "Are you _kidding_ me? _Step Dancing_? What kind of a book is this?"

He coughed sheepishly. "Fiction," he admitted. "But—"

"You want me to use a storybook to cure paralysis? You have to be out of your frakking mind."

"Will you just let me finish?" he snapped, all pretence of let's-be-nice-to-poor-crippled-Starbuck gone. "It's the best we've got, alright? It's actually not half bad, either. I mean, here, look." He took the book from her and flipped through it to a certain page. "Here's lots of stuff we could use. It doesn't go into a lot of detail, sure, but…"

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say, but if it doesn't work, it's _your_ fault, and _you're_ gonna be the one to explain to the old man w—" her voice faltered "—why I can't fly my Viper." Her breath caught on the rising feeling of dread that was pushing its way up her throat like bile. Never flying again. She couldn't imagine it, even now that it had forced itself on her. For the umpteenth time since she'd woken without her legs, Kara found herself fighting tears. _And in front of _him_, Gods dammit!_

Lee stepped carefully over to her and crouched down next to the bed, setting the books aside on the floor. She wiped at her eyes and looked up at him self-consciously. He gave her a warm smile and took her hand. "Hey," he said quietly, "it's not going to come to that, okay?" She turned her head away and sniffed a bit. He caught her cheek in his hand and brought her back to face him. "This'll work. I promise."

"You promise," she echoed dubiously. Promises were empty, she knew that better than most, but his face was so earnest, so open, she almost believed him.

He nodded. "I promise."

She smiled despite herself. "Thank you, Lee," she whispered.

* * *

It was to be nearly a month before Kara was allowed to leave her bed. The inactivity would've been more than enough to drive her completely mad if it hadn't been for the almost-constant stream of visitors that flowed through her little section of the medical bay. Her former nuggets stood out among the crowd, namely Hotdog since he had been her neighbour for over a week while he recovered from his concussion, as did Helo, Admiral Adama, and, of course, Lee.

Damn that man. She'd seen enough of him over the twenty nine days she'd been stuck in the tiny, curtained-off room to instil in her a deep, confusing desire to both repeatedly punch his lights out and hug him until he saw stars from lack of oxygen. The former had won out on several occasions, though fortunately from her position on the bed, she lacked enough leverage to do any real damage.

But when he wheeled that awful contraption into her sight for the first time, she was _frakking sure_ that she would've managed it this time, had he only been within range. Wisely, he remained distinctly out of reach and tried to reason her into accepting the wheelchair.

"No." was her flat-out rejection, and no matter what he, or Cottle, who joined them a moment later, told her, she refused to give ground.

After several lengthy minutes of heated debate, Cottle sighed. "There is another option," he admitted.

* * *

To be perfectly honest, Lee had a hell of a time not laughing his ass off as Kara quite literally dragged herself out of her little room. Cottle, who was hovering near her, ready to catch her should she lose her balance, had rigged her up like some sort of bizarre experiment gone horribly wrong. Her legs were wrapped in sturdy metal braces, forcing them straight. She leaned heavily on crutches, pulling herself along by awkwardly swinging her hips sideways and half-throwing, half-placing each leg in front of the other, then following up with the crutches.

She raised her head from where she'd been avidly watching the ground to fix him with a stony glare. "Not," she hissed choppily as she made her way towards him, "a word, Adama."

"No, sir!" he gave her a joking salute.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Cottle asked. "It would be much easier to just use the—"

"No!" she cut him off fiercely. "No." Breathlessly, she looked up at Lee. "Let's get out of here."

"No way," Cottle barked. "You're not going anywhere except back to bed. You need to take this gradual."

"Aw," she protested, struggling not to pant, "Come on, doc! I just got out of there!"

"And you're going back," he ordered. "Now."

Muttering something uncomplimentary about his parentage under her breath, she heaved her way back into her compartment. Lee made the mistake of offering aid and nearly lost a finger to her snapping teeth.

The next day, she was up again, this time making a full lap around the bed-free common space in the center of the long-term care area. The day after that, she managed two laps before almost falling face-first when one crutch caught on the leg of a hapless desk. Lee, forever her faithful companion, returned her to her feet, ignoring her embarrassed glares and threats.

She progressed, slowly but relentlessly despite her tired arms. Just over a week after her first awkward steps, she was given permission to leave sickbay on the condition that she go straight to her rack. Eagerly, and with absolutely no intention of obeying, she agreed.

The stares the two attracted as they slowly made their way down the corridor were certainly plentiful. It was most likely exceedingly fortunate for the passerbys that Kara's eyes were firmly fixed on the ground, her concentration on nothing but getting each foot in front of the other.

When they came to the first set of stairs, they paused, looking first down at the five tiny bumps that separated them from the rest of their journey, then at each other. "Okay," said Lee, taking a deep breath. "I'll carry you."

She gaped at him. "No frakking way."

"Kara," he warned seriously, "if you try going down those by yourself you'll fall."

She glowered at him and quickly glanced up and down the hallway. "Fine," she hissed. "Make it quick."

He did. He swept her off her feet before she could reconsider, leaving her to snatch up her crutches. He set her down again carefully, making sure she was balanced before removing his support. Even once she was firmly back on her braced legs and propped up by her crutches, he left a hand on her shoulder until she glanced pointedly at it and he wisely retracted it.

He refused to let her deviate from her course to the bunkroom. He doubted she would've, really, even if he hadn't repeatedly told her no. She was breathing hard, her face flushed and her arms shaking from the effort of dragging herself along for so long. It was painfully slow. Lee suspected the only thing keeping her going was her pride.

He pulled the door open to the bunkroom and stepped aside to let her enter first. The rowdy conversation died immediately as the blond captain struggled into the doorway, head down and obviously exhausted. Lee watched the faces of the other pilots as their gazes found their way to her, the subtle eye-widenings and then the slow smiles. Someone clapped. The rest joined in, raining Kara in cheers and applause as she flung one leg in front of the other and smiled with as much confidence as she could muster while trying not to look like she was heading straight for her rack.

**C'mon guys, leave me some love here!**


	4. Lesson One

**Big thanks to arielmoondance for reminding me to mention that this doesn't really fit into the timeline. Lol... sorry for the confusion, but not only does this fic have no scientific accuracy and no beta, but it also doesn't fit into canon. It's just at some ideal, paradise-y point where Sam's not in the picture and neither is Dee in a romantic sense. So. Yay for make-believe timelines! (Please bear with me!)**

When the alarm clocks sounded at four the next morning, Kara was, by force of habits she'd thought she'd forgotten during her time in sickbay, already awake. It irked her to no end that even now that she couldn't possibly contribute like her other pilots, she still had to get up at the same time as them. She groaned irritably and rolled over with even more irritating difficulty.

"C'mon, captain!" chirped a lively voice. Starbuck cracked open an eye and looked over her shoulder to see Kat peering in through the curtain at her. The younger woman threw back the screen and grinned broadly despite her sleep-ridden eyes. "Up and at 'em!"

Kara's arm snaked out from under the blanket and extended her middle finger, her head turning away again.

There was a moment's pause. Then, "Get your fat lazy ass out of your rack, Starbuck!"

Her attention sufficiently acquired, she rolled over and pushed her legs off the bunk, grabbing her braces from the floor and snapping them on while Kat stood by, watching with an odd look on her face as if she were wondering whether or not she should offer help. Kara stood, stiff-legged, and fixed Kat with her iciest glare. Deliberately shouldering her as she reached for her crutches, she muttered a 'frak you' and made her way out of the room.

On the flight deck, she received a similar reaction to that she had upon entering the bunkroom. There were cheers and applause and smiles and good-natured claps on the back that nearly threw her to the ground. Several Vipers had just returned from flying CAP, their pilots hopping off the ladders and gathering together with hearty but tired laughter. She aimed herself at them and hobbled forwards. They spotted her before she got far and ambled over. Lee was among them.

He gave her a smile as he got closer. "Wanna go grab some supper?" he asked.

"Breakfast," she corrected. "How'd you get stuck with the night flight, Adama?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Something to do with missing the day flight because I spent several _hours_ walking with a certain cripple."

She punched him half-heartedly, chuckling. "Oh yeah, rub it in, will you? Got any salt to pour on that wound too, huh?"

He pretended to check his pockets. "Not on me, but I'm sure we can find some in the mess," he returned lightly as they reversed direction and headed for food. "Say, I think I like the sound of that."

"Like the sound of what?" she looked up at him, vaguely concerned that he might actually be considering pouring salt on her. She _did_ have big enough blisters on her hands to make its use worthwhile…

"Cripple," he said, "Cripple Kara, that's you." She snorted. "Cripple Kara, Cripple Kara."

"Shut it, will you?" she snapped, more amused than annoyed. She broke her 'stride' for a moment to give him a healthy whack with one crutch.

He feigned agony and clutched at his leg, limping a couple steps. "Hey, we can be cripples together!"

She snorted again. "'Cripple Lee' doesn't have the same ring to it."

"So you admit there _is_ something there!" he exclaimed, triumphant.

She shrugged. "Maybe. So what can we call you? Hmm… Not Cripple Lee, but what about Cripplee?" She grinned up at him and found him looking surprised and a bit offended. He stopped limping. "Hey, Cripplee, that's not fair!" she exclaimed and whacked him again.

He gave a surprised yelp and bickered good-humouredly with her. "Watch it, will you? We can't have _two_ pilots out of action."

He limped obligingly nonetheless.

* * *

They started their rehab training that afternoon, after Lee had managed to catch a few hours' sleep. The Admiral had volunteered his quarters to provide whatever privacy they would need, and Lee had quickly taken him up on the offer. The journey to Adama's quarters was long, but filled with both playful and functional banter. He outlined their training schedule according to the books he'd read, and Kara only half-jokingly made him swear that he wouldn't try getting her to dance. He explained, as they stepped through the door, that while the book _was_ about a dancer and getting him back onto the stage, the bits about how he got better _by dancing_ seemed a bit far-fetched. He didn't miss her look of relief as he told her he'd decided to omit them.

While Kara flopped into an armchair, he pushed the couch around to put its back to his father's bunk, making two almost-level horizontal surfaces.

He stood back to evaluate his makeshift walking trainer. Straightening, he clapped his hands. "So." He looked over his shoulder at Kara. She was slumped in the chair, eyes closed and snoring faintly. He sighed and sank onto the couch, watching her with a mix of amusement and concern. She was pushing herself too hard—spending more than a month in total inactivity had to take its toll on anyone, even her. And _now_, just a few days later, she was hauling herself about by just her arms in an impressive show of strength and stubbornness that Lee hadn't thought humanly possible.

He sighed again softly and reached out to push the perpetually stray pieces of hair back from her face but stopped halfway, attention caught by an odd discolouring on her upturned right hand. Curious and concerned—had the broken bones not healed properly?—he took it carefully and pulled her fingers back to see the palm.

She woke and jerked her hand away, glaring at him for his presumption, but it was too late. He'd seen it. "What the frak do you think you're doing?" she demanded, hiding her hands protectively against her stomach.

"What the frak do you think _you're_ doing?" he hissed, angry. "Do you not feel pain?"

She looked down at her lap, seeming almost ashamed. "It's not that bad," she protested feebly.

"Are you _kidding _me?" he snatched her hands back and flattened them, exposing the all-encompassing blisters to the air and stretching them maybe a bit more than was necessary. He didn't fail to catch her slight wince and he softened, feeling guilty. "You could've said something," he told her, quieter now but still reproachful.

She pulled a face. "Bugger off, will you? It's not that bad."

He understood. It was her pride. She _had_ to keep going. She _had _to get back on her feet. She couldn't sit around anymore, not for something as small as a blister. So, he stood and rummaged around briefly in the cupboards until he returned with what he was looking for: his father's boxing hand wraps. He held them out for Kara to see and she eyed them warily. "Are those the Admiral's?" she asked. Lee nodded and plopped back down into his seat, twining the beige fabric around her hands before she could protest. She wrinkled her nose. "They smell kinda funky."

He laughed. "I won't tell him you said that."

"You'd better not," she agreed with a chuckle.

When he'd finished, she made her way over to one end of his double bar setup and looked to him for instructions. He snatched her crutches out from beneath her arms and her eyes widened as she toppled forward, just barely catching herself on the back of the couch. "What the _frak_—"

"Now take your braces off," he ordered, moving to stand at the other end of the sofa while she gave him a stony look but did as told. All her weight now on the back of the couch, she again looked to him for what to do next. "Put your left hand on the edge of the bunk." She did. "And now walk to me."

"I can't." It was a flat statement.

"Yes, you can," he insisted. "It's the same as how you've been walking for the past week."

"Without the braces," she pointed out, still looking unconvinced.

He arched an eyebrow at her. "What, you scared?" he taunted.

Her expression changed to one of surprise, then to one of annoyance. "No way."

"Then_ get your butt moving_, Thrace!" He clapped his hands and beckoned. She glared at him, determination now clearly scrawled across her face. She swung her hips and tossed her left leg forwards, then shifted her hands forward as well in an awkward sort of hop. She pulled her right leg up into the lead and then her left, and moved her hands again. It was painfully slow and looked exceedingly difficult.

At last she made it to the end and raised her head, a triumphant grin ready to rub it in his face that she _could_ do it, but he'd already scuttled over to the other side and was waiting for her. She looked over her shoulder. "Not again…" she groaned.

"Yes again," he said firmly. "Come on. You can do it, it's not far."

She groaned a second time and carefully turned herself around. He watched as she hobbled towards him. "Put more weight on your legs," he instructed.

"I can't," she ground out from between gritted teeth, "They won't hold me."

"Try," he ordered.

She didn't, or at least not intentionally. She'd nearly made it to him again when her shaking arms finally gave way and her weight went to her floppy legs. They collapsed immediately, sending her to the ground with a cry. She sat, crumpled and defeated, with her head down.

"Get up," Lee barked. She shook her head. "Thrace, I said get up." She shook her head again, her shoulders hunched and quivering. "That's an order, Starbuck!"

"I can't!" she yelled at him, her voice thick with anger and humiliation. "I can't do it!"

Lee stared hard down at her, waging his own internal battle against the almost-overwhelming tide of guilt and sympathy that was threatening to break his harsh drill instructor façade. "Yes, you can. Now _get up_."

With what sounded like a strangled sob, she reached up and planted one hand on the back of the couch and the other on the bunk. Not meeting his gaze, she slowly hauled herself up, arms still trembling violently. She set one foot in front of the other and made it the three steps to the end of the track, where she stood as tall as she could, glaring defiantly up at him through tear-filled eyes.

He gave her a curt nod and made as if to step back, but when he saw her arms begin to give out again, he snapped reflexively into action and caught her about the middle before she could fall. She sagged against him in relief, a heaving sob breaking the otherwise-silent room, and let him half-carry, half-drag her to the couch, where he sat her down carefully. She pulled away from him and grabbed her braces a bit clumsily, swiping hastily at her eyes.

"That was good," he told her. "A good start."

* * *

And it really was just a start. They kept at it, despite Kara's grumbling protests, and by the end of their second week, they were both _very_ sure that they were ready for a vacation. Lee, of course, was less vocal about his certainty. Kara complained vehemently until she managed to convince him to go to his father and ask if she could get leave to go to _Cloud Nine._ When he returned to report back on the meeting, it was painfully early in the morning and he'd just gotten off the night CAP. He woke her in her bunk.

"Frak off," she mumbled, face pressed into her pillow.

"Oh, lovely to see you too," he replied sarcastically. "Kill me and you'll never hear my news."

She eyed him speculatively through a haze of sleep and dishevelled hair. "What news?"

"Well…" Lee smothered a grin and rubbed his hands on his flight suit as if trying to find a way to phrase something unpleasant. "My father wasn't too happy that you got me to come instead of coming yourself," he began, drawing his words out. "He thinks you're lazy and totally undeserving of any vacation whatsoever."

She slumped back into her pillow and pulled the blanket over her head. "For this you woke me up? What time is it, anyway?"

"No, and you don't want to know." His grin finally got the better of him. "There's something else."

"Tell me," she demanded irritably, voice muffled.

"You're going to _Cloud Nine_," he whispered in her ear, making her jump.

She rolled onto her side and looked at him, now wide-awake. "But you just said—"

"Hey, I'm just the messenger." He held his hands up innocently. "That's what he said."

Her eyes narrowed. "How long do I get?"

"A week," he replied. Her mouth fell open. "Well, no offence, Starbuck, but you're not exactly needed around here."

It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it before he'd even finished the sentence. It was late and he was tired and it had slipped out without a thought. Her gaping mouth snapped shut and her face closed down, her body visibly shrinking into itself as she shifted in the bunk. "Kara, I didn't mean that."

She smiled tightly. "Yeah, you did." She laughed slightly, bitterly. "That's okay. I know. I'm pretty useless. I mean—" she pressed a hand to her forehead. "I mean, I can't—" the hand wiped at her eyes, her lips trembling as she laughed again. "I can't even stop frakking crying!" He reached out to offer comfort but she drew back, rolling to face the wall. "Gods _dammit_!"

Lee watched her struggle for a moment, her shoulders shaking, then swept his hands over his face. He stood and left without another word.


	5. Cloud Nine

**Okay... sorry for the long pause. School launched a surprise attack with its new ally my exchange buddy and I was caught off guard. Alas! Tis up now! Fortune permit, it shall redeem itself with the absolute fluffiness of its content. ;)**

* * *

_Cloud Nine_ was, without a doubt or even a close second, the best ship in the fleet. The last time Kara had been there had been for a Quorum meeting, and she'd been walking with a cane and one leg brace. This time, she was there because she wasn't needed anywhere else, and she was walking with crutches and two leg braces. If it could be called walking.

The stares she attracted as she made her way to her room were enough to make her want to scream, and the one or two tentative "Can I help you?"s were doing nothing for her temper. It was just as well, then, that when the door finally slid open to the small apartment that had been rented for her, she came face to face with the last person she wanted to see.

"Good lords, Kara," he exclaimed from where he was sitting on the bed, "did you drag that all the way here?" He gestured at her suitcase lying on the ground, the handles of which had been tied haphazardly to one of her crutches.

"What the frak are you doing here, Lee?" she demanded, skulking into the room and depositing the suitcase by the door. "Get out."

"Sure. I got leave, too." He shrugged and pushed himself off the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room, and headed for the exit. "See you around."

She waited until she heard the door close before she let herself pitch face-first onto the cot. Her crutches fell to either side and clattered to the floor while her legs stuck out at odd angles from the edge of the bunk. Half-heartedly, she beat the pillow with one fist, trying to vent some of her frustration. She finally got a vacation, and who was there to mess it up? Lee, obviously. The guy couldn't give her a break, could he? Frakking asshole…

Things between them had gone from bad to worse after last night. In the morning, when she'd been packing her things to leave, Kat, in a huff about something or other, had shoved past her on her way out of the dorm and snapped at her to get her useless ass out of the way. These were the pilots' quarters, maybe she should get her own special retired-warhorse room if all she was going to do was interfere.

Lee had been there. He'd seen. He'd heard. And he'd just watched.

He'd helped her carry her bag to the flight deck, but hadn't said a word. He'd left without a goodbye as soon as she was on board her shuttle and she'd spent the entire flight seething.

Seeing him here really wasn't helping matters.

* * *

After four days of lounging about on real lawns and smelling freshly-cut grass wherever she went, Kara's pent-up anger was gone. She felt more free and light-hearted now than she had in months, ironically enough seeing as moving at anything faster than a crawl was next to impossible.

The four days had also been blessedly Lee-free. She hadn't seen a single face she recognized in her entire time here, with the exception, perhaps, of the grouchy old bartender she'd met briefly during her last visit. She still attracted stares, but she'd gotten better at letting the irritation they caused roll off her back.

Speaking about rolling on her back… Kara smiled idly and stretched her arms out to the sides, catching a small clump of grass in each hand. The light from the artificial sun was bright and warm on her face as she lay sprawled in what she'd come to think of as _her_ spot. It was a quiet part of the gardens, hidden from view of the pathway by some trees and shrubs. There was a bench off to the side, and a small fountain a little ways away. It was an idyllic hideaway, and she was exceedingly thankful she'd found it.

Approaching footsteps caught her attention. Her eyes opened and squinted in the light; she brought a hand up to shield them and rolled onto her side, quickly scanning what she could see through the thinner under-parts of the bushes to find and identify the intruder. There: a pair of black, standard-issue boots, probably size twenty-A or –B. Lee's size.

She smothered a moan in the hopes that he would just keep walking. As the boots cleared the bushes and their owner stepped into her hideout, she shut her eyes and feigned sleep, leaving just enough space between her eyelids to make out a blurry image of what he was doing. _Go away… I'm asleep. I'm the image of peace. You don't want to disturb me. I'm the frakking image of frakking peace—_

She started as his face popped suddenly into view, her eyes opening fully. She gave him an awkward shove and waited for him to tell her why he was there. _Start with an apology, frak-for-brains._

He made himself comfortable on the grass in front of her and was silent. She glared up at him sideways. "Your hair is sticking straight up," he informed her flatly. She resisted the reflex to reach up and smooth it down.

Finally, she sighed heavily and pushed herself up into a sitting position, running her hand through her hair in what she hoped looked like a normal part of the motion. It _had_ been sticking up, damn him. "So, you following me now?"

"Trying to," he said. "Took me this long just to track you down. Do you never use your room?"

"Only to sleep," she shrugged, picking absently at the grass. "It's nicer here, anyway."

He took a moment to survey the surroundings and nodded. She eyed him blatantly. She wasn't mad at him. No matter how hard she tried to be, she wasn't. She resented him, held a grudge against him—hell, she held several—but she wasn't mad at him. That didn't mean she didn't want that apology, or at least a damn good explanation.

She didn't get it. He stayed quiet, seeming to be enjoying just sitting in the little clearing and letting the breeze and sunlight wash over him. Despite herself, her mouth twisted. "You're just going to sit there."

"Yep," he nodded, not looking at her.

"You're not going to apologize?" It slipped out before she realized she was even considering saying it.

His attention caught, his gaze met hers. "Should I be going to?"

"Um, yeah," she said. _Is he playing stupid or does he seriously not know?_ "You owe me one."

"For what?" he inquired, his eyebrows raised.

It wasn't every day that Kara Thrace wanted an apology. It was certainly not every day that she had to ask for one, and explain what for. "Frak, Lee, you know what. Don't play idiot with me."

He leaned forward. "I have nothing to be sorry for," he told her, his voice low and edged.

"Yeah?" her own voice was rising; she could feel the old hurt returning. "Then what do you call sitting by and watching me get my ass handed to me by my insubordinate wingman?"

"I call it normal!"

"_Normal?_" Her eyes stung. "You frakking abandoned me! What was I supposed to do? I can't even walk!"

"This is exactly what I'm talking about," he returned. His calm face had turned angry, glaring at her disdainfully. "Can you hear yourself? Since when do you need protecting? The Kara I knew would never, _never_, degrade herself like this."

"The Kara you _knew_?" she echoed thickly. "You still know her! I'm her, Lee—What, I'm some frakking Cylon now? This is me!"

"No, it's not." He looked disappointed in her, as if she'd somehow failed him personally. "You're weak. You're weak and pathetic and all you can do is be protected. It's like this—" he motioned at her legs and the braces lying nearby "—has taken over you. You can't stop feeling sorry for yourself." His voice calmed. "That's why I didn't interfere with Kat. You need to suck it up and get back to normal. This isn't you."

She stared at him and bit down hard on her cheek. She couldn't let herself cry in front of him, not after that. It hurt, though. Gods dammit it, it hurt! Knowing that he was right didn't make it any easier.

He got to his feet and walked away. She was left sitting there, shoulders shaking and eyes red. She didn't cry. The image of his departing back was blurred by a thick veil of tears but she forced them back and didn't cry. Digging her nails in her palms, she took deep, steadying breaths until she recovered herself, then reached for her braces. She snapped them on and hauled herself with determination to her feet. Kara Thrace—Starbuck—was coming back.

And, balancing herself on her crutches, she hobbled off in the direction of the bar.

* * *

The next afternoon found Kara back in her spot, dozing peacefully, the final throbs of her hangover finally gone. She'd had a pleasant night at the bar, drinking alone but relaxed. They'd had their confrontation and they'd resolved their issues—or at least taken the first steps on the road to doing just that.

So, when Lee seated himself on the bench, she tilted her head back and smiled at him upside-down. "Hey."

He smiled back. "Hey. Sleep well?"

"In a way…" she said slowly, rubbing at her eyes to clear them and sitting up. "What time is it?"

"About 1500," he told her. "Rough night, huh? How're you feeling?"

"Okay." She ran her hands through her hair. "What's up?"

He pulled a bottle of white wine from behind his back, looking at her with questioning mischief. She grinned and reached for it.

An hour later found both Kara and Lee still in her spot, pleasantly tipsy. The wine was gone, the bottle lying nearby in the grass. Kara leaned her head back and prodded her brace where it sat off to her right. "I still can't believe we're using storybooks for this," she commented absently.

Lee looked over at her. "Well, why not, right? We use storybooks for lots of things." She raised her eyebrows. "Okay, for example, remember that book from Year 6? You never dyed your hair blond like Bobby did?"

Her mouth opened and closed, then, "I have blond hair, Lee."

He paused. "Right. Bad example."

She flopped back into the grass and laughed loudly. "Blame it on the drink."

"Sure," he agreed easily, lying down next to her.

She was silent for a moment, her mind turning over what he'd said. A slow smirk spread across her face. "You dyed your hair blond. With peroxide." She turned her head towards him just in time to catch him flushing a deep red. "Oh my gods, you did, didn't you?" she laughed again, "Lee Adama with blond hair. Now _that's _some thing I wish I'd seen."

A hand whacked her shoulder. "Shut it, will you? I was what, twelve? What did you do as a twelve-year-old?"

Still laughing, she returned to her back, staring up at the greyish sky. "Nothing good, I'm sure."

She paused. The sky was grey? She blinked to make sure it wasn't just the wine talking, but no, the sky was definitely grey. This was _Cloud Nine._ The sky was _never_ grey here. "Hey, Lee…"

"What?" he grumbled, still sounding defensive.

She almost giggled and returned his smack half-heartedly. "Aw, come on. I was teasing. But seriously, why is the sky grey?"

"Why is the sky blue?" he returned offhandedly.

"I have no idea," she said honestly. "But it's grey. Open your eyes, you idiot. It think it's actually going to—"

She didn't finish the word, but it dropped from the sky and landed precisely in the middle of her forehead, effectively cutting her off. She stared up, flabbergasted. "No way."

Lee opened his mouth to question, but another drop sploshed onto his cheek. He gaped. Their eyes met and she laughed. "It's raining."

She laughed harder. "It's raining," she agreed. She pushed herself to her feet with the help of the fountain, leaning on it heavily and letting the increasing rain hit her back, making dark blotches on her shirt. "How the frak did they get it to _rain_?"

Lee joined in her laughter. "I have no idea." He stood, wobbling a bit himself but still teasing her as she struggled to keep herself upright. She rested against the edge of the fountain and spread her arms wide, grinning up into the falling water. She brought her head back down and her eyes met Lee's as she blinked the rain out of them.

Impulsively, she pushed off her support and, for a brief moment, stood free before her legs collapsed and she landed in a laughing heap on the ground. She extended her arms to him and he grabbed her firmly by the wrists. She was flung against him as he pulled, perhaps too hard. He staggered back a bit and adjusted his grip as she let herself go limp, relying on him to drag her out of the puddle they were in and onto the grass.

Carefully, he set her down and sat beside her, watching as she stuck her tongue out to catch the drops. "That's dirty, you know," he reminded her responsibly.

She cracked open an eye and gave him a childishly careless look. He laughed and teasingly pushed her head sideways with two fingers. Her shoulders curled upwards as she laughed and she rolled halfway onto her side. Her smile faded slightly as she studied his face.

With surprising speed, she pushed herself up and leaned over to kiss him briefly. She pulled back and met his surprised gaze, unconsciously drawing her bottom lip between her teeth as she waited for a reaction. Getting none, she chuckled nervously. "Well that was awkward."

She cleared her throat and reached for her braces. Hands cupped her face, startling her. She looked up, half-expecting a strained apology, and before she could quite register the expression on his face or the intent behind it, he was kissing her. And she was kissing him back.

His fingers found the base of her neck and pulled her closer while his other hand helped her as she shifted to lean into him. Her arms wove around his back, exploring the wet fabric of his uniform undershirt and the muscles beneath. She shivered, partly because he was cold to the touch and partly because his lips were shifting down her jaw and neck to graze over her collarbone. She tipped her head back, smiling distractedly as his hands found their way beneath her clinging shirt and onto the skin of her back and sides. She pulled him back up to her and kissed him hard, mouth open and demanding. Tongues met and fought, leaving her breathless.

The sound of a throat being irritably cleared startled them both back to reality. Kara looked around Lee's should at the security guard standing over them. He didn't look pleased. She tried her best sweet face.

He wasn't buying it. "Take it inside. Get a room. Whatever. Just get out of here; I've got the President coming through and she sure as hell doesn't want a sideshow of _that_."

Lee suppressed a snicker at the thought of having his hands up Kara's shirt while Laura Roslin strolled by. Kara herself gave the guard a little wink of understanding and a cheeky 'right away sir'. Satisfied enough when Lee made to get up, the man left them.

Kara was suddenly flung into the air, swept into Lee's arms like a baby before she could protest. Not that she would've, really. She only had to stretch half an inch to run her tongue along Lee's collarbone, making his fingers twitch against her. She laughed as he strode away from their clearing, reaching back half-heartedly for where her crutches lay.

Water dripped from Lee's chin onto her forehead and she tilted her head back to catch it in her mouth, eyes closed. Thoughts of crutches left behind slipped from her mind like smoke through a fist as Lee's lips closed over hers unannounced.

Before she quite knew they'd arrived, her back met soft sheets and Lee hovered above her, kissing her briefly before drawing back to haul his soaked tanktop over his head. It hit the floor with a dull flop, and his hands went to his belt while Kara sat up to fight with her own shirt. As she finally got her head free, she tossed the shirt aside and looked up to find him watching her.

"What?" she questioned, her lips quirking a bit.

He reached over to push a piece of hair away from her forehead and her smile faded as his hand curved around her cheek. She pushed his hand aside and kissed him hard, the skin of his chest cold against hers. "Just have fun," she whispered against his mouth. "Don't make this more than it is."

Of course, as soon as she'd said it she knew it wasn't the right thing to say. And not just because she knew he'd kick up a fuss and probably not sleep with her.

Because she knew it _was_ more than it was.


End file.
